Trust Issues
by Dread Pirate
Summary: A race who immediately imprison any visitor to their planet would seem to be a likely stumbling block for Picard and his crew - but it isn't the Intractans who will prove to be the main problem.
1. Chapter 1

Picard looked around at the confines of his detention cell and couldn't stop the smallest of smiles from crossing his face. He hoped that wasn't a terrible breach of protocol.

The Intracta really were a fascinating tribute to their history, he thought. Their application to join the Federation had been a pleasant surprise, but not perhaps a wholly unexpected one. He had been glad of the opportunity to be Starfleet's primary investigating officer in their case, because the file alone had been fascinating reading. And (although he would not have admitted it) perhaps a little of his satisfaction was due to his rare opportunity to overrule Riker's insistence that he stay safely aboard ship for the duration.

After all, it would have been the height of rudeness for the captain to stay away this time.

For almost two hundred years, the Intracta had been known as a deeply xenophobic and unfriendly people. They had been an intellectual, spiritual and generally harmless race, who had invented manned space flight, then almost immediately abandoned all use of it after a disastrous first contact with a race called Benaii, who had attempted a hostile takeover of the Intractan homeworld scant hours after discovering it existed. The Benaii were repulsed with some force - Intractans turned out to be formidable fighters - but the real damage was already done. All spacefaring visitors to Tractusaria were henceforth treated with deep distrust, and Intractan society had developed along very different lines to its original path.

However, as Picard had been delighted to discover, the Intractans' somewhat rude introduction to the intergalactic community had failed to completely eradicate their basically charming and inquisitive natures. It had taken over a century, but the Intracta had redeveloped their existing interest in space flight into an interest in servicing space flight for others. Tractusaria was now a thriving space dock with the reputation for having the best facilities in several galaxies - if the visitor was prepared to accept the Intractan terms.

And, Picard thought, as he poured himself a glass of what he had been assured was a native herb tea, those terms had certainly become more palatable. He nodded to the guard outside the cell, who inclined his slender, wedge-shaped head in acknowledgement. "Your very good health."

The guard seemed to consult a mental list, then, in his quiet, whispering tones, recited politely: "Silence, alien scum." Picard nodded once more, and retreated to the other side of the cell to sit down on the padded oblong recliner so he could look out of the barred window and see the little fleets of atmospheric ship service shuttles flicking by at speed in the sunlight.

The tea, naturally, was very good.

* * *

><p>"I don't like it."<p>

Deanna Troi looked up at Will Riker and smiled, indulgently. She liked him when he was like this. The single-minded focus of his emotion was almost refreshing compared to the usual gamut of complex human feelings seething beneath most of the crew's conscious surfaces.

"The captain is perfectly safe," she said. She'd offered variations on this theme at least three times in the past hour. She couldn't help feeling she wasn't getting through.

"Safe? He's in a cell. From a certain perspective, he couldn't be safer." The first officer gripped the arms of the command chair as if he could squeeze a new perspective out of them.

"And that's exactly the perspective that applies here," said Troi, gently. "The Intracta imprison _every _off-worlder who arrives on the planet surface. It's a ceremonial function for them now, not a true judgement of a visitor's character."

Riker reached up and rubbed a knuckle into his eye as if trying to ward off a headache.

"You're right, it's not a judgement on individuals, it's a summary judgement upon all non-Intractan races. It's incredibly closed-minded of them."

"Considering their past, I think it's actually rather generous of them," said Troi. "Think about it. After they were attacked, they could have closed off all contact from alien species. But they didn't. They evolved their natural suspicion and found a way to make it work with their curiosity and desire to be part of a greater community. As long as visitors display a genuine honesty and reason for their visit, there's no real difference between staying in a hotel and staying in a cell."

"I bet Worf would agree with me," Riker grumbled. Worf was also planetside, and presumably also in a detention cell. He couldn't imagine the Klingon warrior side of Worf was enjoying captivity, even it were for purely ceremonial purposes.

"If it helps," came the voice of Geordi La Forge, who was covering Data's post at Ops while the android was on the Away Team, "_I_ think it's a little creepy, Commander."

"There, see?" Riker made an open-palmed gesture indicating La Forge, and darted a told-you-so glance at Deanna.

"Creepy," repeated Troi with a mischievous smile, "and the _Intractans_ are the ones who make summary judgements based on one experience."

* * *

><p>Picard had finished his tea and was watching a shimmering Oncaillian cruiser being repaired by three small Intractan engineer droneships when the guard's voice, polite and low-toned as ever, said:<p>

"On your feet, prisoner, the Divemaster wishes to speak with you."

"Captain Picard." The Divemaster of Tractusaria was a particularly tall and willowy example of her race, her wedge-shaped head and jet black eyes tilted down to meet Picard's gaze. She reached out with an elongated hand to offer a handshake. Handshaking was not native to the planet but (their visitor accommodation peccadilloes aside) the Intracta were an extremely diplomatic people and spent a lot of time learning the correct protocol. Her grip was cool and damp.

"I hope your stay in our prison has taught you the required lesson?"

Picard was ready for this one.

"I am fully aware of my position, Divemaster, and will make sure that the Federation have a full report on the strength of Intractan security."

She seemed relieved, from what he could tell. Intracta body language was not the same as human body language. It was more fluid - there were more undulations of muscle and flickers of long limbs.

"And the guard has, I trust, behaved appropriately?"

The Intractan male outside the cell door almost radiated anxiety. Picard smiled.

"Divemaster, he has made me fully conversant with Intractan hospitality and his knowledge of prison protocol."

The Divemaster's thin arms slapped against her sides: an Intractan way of laughing.

"'_Silence, alien scum_', I imagine?" At Picard's nod, she gave the guard a pat on the shoulder. "Nicely done, Abrin. Now, Captain, if you will come with me to the prisoner recreational lounge, I believe we can talk business."

The walk to the lounge was fairly lengthy: there were no elevators or transporter rooms in the prison complex for fear of making it too easy for prisoners to escape. Picard glanced into other detention cells as they passed, noting the sheer variety of species who came to use the spaceport facilities here on Tractusaria. He walked alongside the Divemaster, but they were flanked by two armed guards, whom the Divemaster had introduced as her head of diplomatic relations and her expert in alien contact.

"I hope you do not mind us not being joined by your two officers, Captain," said the Divemaster, "but you understand that it is our tradition to separate all ship crew on arrival to guard against collaboration. Rest assured they will be well guarded."

Picard was satisfied with that arrangement, and said so. 'Well-guarded' was one of the highest compliments that could be paid by the Intracta, and he actually had few concerns about Worf and Data. Data would be endlessly fascinated by the whole experience, being almost impossible to bore in captivity: and Worf…well, Worf would do very well practicing his Starfleet restraint.

"The Federation have been generous in their allocation of investigating officer," said the Divemaster, turning onto a tall metal walkway over the prisoner registration area. "We hear your _Enterprise_ is the fleet's flagship."

"I am honoured by their choice," said Picard. "Your race's indomitable spirit should be an inspiration to the Federation. I have little doubt that - "

And then he stopped, mouth open, staring.

They had passed the new arrivals area, and had moved on over a section Picard did not recognise. The guards here were heavily armoured and there were fewer "prisoners" present. In the centre of the room, a struggle was going on. Guards aimed weapons: other guards were trying to keep hold of a prisoner who was half-naked, stripped to the waist and fighting hard to be free of them, despite the almost constant splatter of laser fire bathing his body.

The man's skin was opalescent, almost white: he had a severe dark haircut and a long-nosed profile Picard would have recognised anywhere. Nondescript black trousers and long black boots completed the figure.

He broke away from the group of guards, staggered almost immediately as another round of stun slammed into his back, then dropped to his knees. A few scorch marks marred the golden pallor of his shoulder blades, and below the charring a few shining pieces of metal structure were exposed. He looked up with bright yellow eyes, almost as if seeking Picard on the walkway, then crashed forward and lay immobile on his face. He was instantly surrounded by guards.

Picard turned on the Divemaster, fury and shock etched into his expression.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Release him at once!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**[Special author's note to spacecadet777: What can I say? You caught me! :)**_ _**]**_

The Divemaster recoiled as if Picard had suggested she perform a perverse sex act: he remembered too late that to ask so baldly for a prisoner's release was tantamount to starting a drunken brawl in a nunnery.

"My apologies for my hasty words," he said quickly, trying to swallow his rage at their treatment of Data - what the hell had the android done to warrant such a reaction? - "but you must understand that I was not expecting to see one of my officers treated in such a way. Please, I must know why he has been subject to this…to this punishment. I'm sure there has been a misunderstanding."

"I do not understand, Captain," said the Divemaster, her whispery tones reflecting genuine confusion. "You are saying you take full responsibility for this man and his actions?"

"Certainly I do," said Picard, without hesitation. "He's a member of my crew and under my command. His actions are my actions. Whether I would endorse those actions or not, I must take responsibility for them."

"I understand," the Divemaster said softly. "May I add that we were unaware of this? You must return to your cell immediately. We will bring this man into the subjugation chamber, and then you may be permitted to question him. Under close supervision, of course."

"Of course," said Picard. He would have agreed to a lot to simply get Data out of whatever situation he'd somehow managed to provoke. The sight of the android's damaged, unconscious body being carried off by a squad of guards was terribly distracting. Something in the Divemaster's words was niggling at the back of his brain, but he pushed it away. It was far more important to sort out this immediate problem.

He hoped he was imagining a certain additional coldness on the part of the guard, Abrin, as he was locked back into his comfortable cell. _Diplomatic immunity_, he thought. _I wonder how far it will stretch? How small a slight before the lasers come out? _

Good to their word, the Intracta brought the android up within an hour, locking him into a smaller room almost directly opposite Picard's. This cell, it seemed, had originally been a guardroom. Picard watched all the furnishings and fittings being removed rapidly to leave only the bare walls and the force field doorway. The lights came up, and two guards dragged the android's unmoving body into the room, leaving him lying on the floor with his back to Picard's cell.

The sight of the long, curling scorch marks along Data's spine made Picard's gut clench in anger. How badly was he damaged? Worf had indicated that the Intractan laser weapons were not as sophisticated as Federation hand phasers, but he hadn't seemed to doubt their efficacy.

"Data!" he shouted, though he had little hope of rousing an unconscious android. Abrin, outside his cell, said calmly (and perhaps a little apologetically): "Be silent, alien bringer of war."

The Divemaster herself, flanked by her advisors and an additional two guards, arrived ten minutes later, looking more composed than Picard felt. She indicated that the captain should be escorted from his cell to stand with her outside the force field of the cell opposite.

"Captain Picard," she said, "I need this to be clear to you as our prisoner. This man has committed a severe offence and our usual response would be to administer correction before deporting him from the planet. However, given the status of your visit to us and the fact that you have indicated your responsibility for his actions, we are aware of our need to handle this situation with caution."

"Thankyou," said Picard, trying not to sound as grim as he felt. "Starfleet appreciates your understanding. Is he badly hurt?"

"Our engineers are confident he can be fully repaired quite easily." The Divemaster's manner was unchanged: artificial life-forms were evidently neither here nor there. Prisoners were prisoners, regardless of their construction. "The damage is mostly superficial. We were uncertain of the weight of stun required to subdue him, and may have over-estimated."

"May I speak to him?"

"Once he is awake, Captain, we will both speak to him." The Divemaster looked seriously at him with her black eyes. "Prisoners may not confer with prisoners alone. Surely you understand that."

Picard nodded. "What of my other officer?" he asked, suddenly worried about Worf. If the mild and polite Data had somehow managed to drop a serious diplomatic clanger, surely Worf was at least in danger of doing the same. The Divemaster looked confused again.

"Your other officers are -"

In the cell, the android suddenly moved, sat up. All attention outside the cell was immediately on him. Picard managed to stall an involuntary step toward the force field. It fell to the Divemaster, as the prison authority, to make the first move, and he knew that.

Didn't stop it feeling wrong, though.

The willowy Intractan had moved forward to the force field, her guards keeping their weapons trained on the prisoner.

"According to prison regulations," she said, in as loud a voice as the Intractan vocal chords would manage, "Captain Picard has declared himself responsible for your actions. As he is the named representative of the Federation we hope to join, we wish to resolve any issues with Captain Picard as soon as possible."

The android turned wide golden eyes on the little group outside his bare cell. He glanced down his own body, taking in the missing clothes and the areas of damage, then fixed on Picard's concerned and grim expression.

"Oh," he said, one corner of his pale lips curling up in a sneer. "It's you. Can't you ever leave me in peace?"

Picard's artificial heart felt as if it had sunk into his knees at the sound of that familiar voice couched in those bitter tones. He'd made a mistake. A horrible, possibly career-breaking, crippling…

...ever-so-understandable mistake. Given the circumstances.

_What are the chances…?_

"Hello again, Lore," he said, softly, and saw the swift narrowing of golden eyes that confirmed he'd been quite right in his conclusions. He turned to the tall Intractan woman. "Divemaster, I really do need to speak to you urgently. In private. "

"Hey," snapped Lore, pushing himself to his feet. "I heard her, _Captain_. I'm your responsibility. Any talking you're going to do involves me."

"Lore, this is not the time," Picard bit back. "Divemaster, this is a case of mistaken identity. This man is my second officer's twin brother, and he -"

"Picard, you'd better start -"

"Not NOW, Lore! - and he is not in any way associated with me, the Federation, or my crew."

"Oh, but I am," said Lore, immediately, refusing to quiet down and (Picard noted with a inward groan) successfully dividing the Intractan leader's attention between them. "I am uniquely associated with the _Enterprise_. And I'm his responsibility. Entirely. With everything that entails."

The black eyes of the Intractan woman flicked to Picard once again as soon as Lore was silent.

"Captain," she said, and her tone made Picard's already sunken heart try to crawl into the toecaps of his boots. "I had hoped you were aware of the exactitude of our laws. You have declared this man to be yours, and so he is until you both leave our custody."

"I understand your need to be true to your legal requirements," said Picard, working very hard to keep his voice calm and level, especially with the spectacle of Lore smirking at him in the periphery, "but surely you have procedures for if a mistake is made. Please, go to your holding cells. Find Lieutenant Commander Data and bring him here. You will see very quickly the truth of what I am saying - that I mistook this man, Lore, for his twin brother Data."

"I'm afraid this is a serious irregularity, Captain Picard. We cannot afford any error, given the precarious nature of our application to join your Federation," said the Divemaster, quietly but firmly. "We will add this to the charge sheet against - " and she checked briefly with the guard at her side - "Lore Soong. Your name is now also attached to his charge sheet, Captain. Please stay within your cell until you are next sent for. You will have every amenity available."

_Until such time as my privileges are withdrawn, _thought Picard somewhat fatalistically, as he was politely shepherded back into his detention cell. The force field snapped up into being with a faint hum that was new: white noise blanket, Picard realised after a moment. He would now no longer be able to hear anything being said out in the corridor, and he certainly couldn't communicate with Lore, who was sat on the floor in his own cell, running a hand over the damaged areas of his back.

_And much as I don't like the man_, Picard thought, _I would be extremely interested at this moment to find out just exactly what he's **done**. _


	3. Chapter 3

"I - excuse me?" said Commander William Riker, who had never before in his life hoped so much for the sudden, unexpected onset of chronic hearing difficulties that would have gone some way to explaining what he thought he had just been told. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Would you mind repeating that?"

The Intractan diplomat on screen (who to human eyes looked a great deal more like a heavily armoured soldier than a peacemaker) repeated himself in a whispering voice. Riker listened very carefully. His eyebrows flared high, then drew down into a menacing scowl. The rest of the bridge crew stayed silent, unable or unwilling to make any sort of comment.

"I see," said Riker, in a voice utterly devoid of tone. "If you will permit me to consult with Starfleet Command?"

The screen winked out on the diplomat's affirmative, to show the peaceful stars and the gently shifting globe of Tractusaria. Riker's fingers flexed, just once. Every officer currently on bridge duty was staring at him, willing him to say something. Preferably something that would make sense out of the things they'd just been party to hearing.

There was a pause, then Riker leant forward over his knees, pulling his fingers into a rough steeple, and grated: "I want to be perfectly clear on this point. The accusation levelled against Captain Picard is completely groundless and I do not want it repeated, understood?"

There was a chorus on the theme of "aye, sir."

"Glad to hear it." Riker flopped back in his chair, giving Deanna a weary glance. "Because of all the things I don't want to hear bandied about carelessly, it's the fact that Captain Picard is being held up on a charge of assaulting a pregnant woman." The counsellor's dark eyes were wide, sorrowful. "Come on, people!" Riker raised his voice. "Let's have a proper look at the Intractan legal codes. And get me Starfleet Command on subspace, I don't care if it takes hours, I want to actually speak to someone about this."

* * *

><p>"He did what -"<p>

Picard, massaging his cheekbone miserably, actually stopped himself in mid-expostulation. There really wasn't any point. And what was worse, he found himself not even particularly surprised. Assaulting a pregnant woman was hardly the worst thing that Lore had done in his life, after all.

"Is the woman all right?" he asked, allowing his concern to temper his fury at the android.

"She is at our medical facility and in no danger," said the Divemaster, softly. Her inhuman face was unreadable, black eyes giving nothing away.

"I am glad of that," said Picard, who truly was. The woman could have died, and then he would have added responsibility for murder to his charge sheet. And all because he couldn't tell those two apart -

Nonsense. There was no thinking that way. No-one could tell those two androids apart, especially from a distance and without hearing them speak or seeing them move and walk normally. Lore's swagger and brashness would have given him away soon enough, had the circumstances been different. "Divemaster, you must believe you will have my full co-operation in dealing with this matter, but I have to contact my ship. My first officer - "

"Your first officer has been informed of the situation. One of my senior staff contacted him very recently."

Picard found that he was somehow not comforted by this fact. "I don't suppose," he said slowly, "that you'll be able to tell me precisely what was said to him or what he may have said in return?"

The Intractan woman had that look about her again that suggested what Picard was saying to her was being received in the same fashion as an unwanted advance by a drunken lout in a bar. "Forgive me," he said, feeling tired. "I understand that my suggestion is impertinent. I am only trying to find out the facts. Can you tell me what I am permitted to do in this situation? Who I am permitted to speak to and under what circumstances?"

She looked somewhat relieved, Picard thought. "Of course. You will be permitted short, supervised audiences with the man who is your responsibility. Our laws treat this situation of responsibility much as we would treat a husband and wife, or a mother and child."

_Now if that isn't a nasty concept_, thought Picard, keeping his face straight, _I don't know what is_. "Thankyou," he said aloud. Even talking with Lore would be better than nothing. He had to know what he was dealing with, preferably in the android's own words. "I would like the maximum allowable amount of audiences, to start as soon as possible."

His eye was drawn to Lore, who was now sat perfectly still in the lotus position on the floor of his cell opposite. The android's eyes were open, but his expression was faraway, empty. Picard had seen that same expression on Data, and it usually meant that there was some set of internal processing going on that required a larger amount of attention than usual. He also noticed, belatedly, that Lore was still only half-dressed and the scorch marks were still visible licking the curve of his torso where a human's ribs would be.

"Might I also ask if he is to be treated for his injuries?"

"We're not cruel, Captain," whispered the Divemaster. "Our engineers are busy sourcing the materials they will need. As soon as they are prepared, he will be given suitable repairs."

Picard nodded absently; he had not truly doubted this. The Intracta were a fair and accommodating people - provided one stayed within the rules, of course. The Divemaster took his nod as dismissal, and turned to leave his cell.

"One more thing," Picard said from behind her, raising his voice only slightly. "See if you can find him a shirt…"

* * *

><p>One floor up and several hundred yards away from where his captain was being held, Lieutenant Commander Data was sat in his own cell, head tilted, watching with endless fascination the parade of people filing back and forth. As a junior crew member in the Intracta's eyes, his cell was far less plush than Picard's: but Data was never bored. He tracked the movements of the guards, his keen sight picking out the subtle differences in armour and dress between the soldiers and the civil servants. He tallied up the numbers of different species currently in residence and was very interested in the efficiency of how the Intracta moved their prisoners around. For example, the Vulcan captain was moved from his cell at precisely three-hour intervals, his movements timed to avoid utterly the movements of what was presumably his first officer -<p>

Data leant forward. One of the Intractan officers, wearing the dull taupe shades of what Data had come to recognise as engineer or technician class armour, had just gone by carrying something almost unique. The only other one Data could recall seeing was kept in Geordi La Forge's own toolkit aboard the Enterprise. It was a micro-circuitry reconnector, and not exactly the same as Geordi's, but the connector head had evidently been tailored to fit a very specific type of circuitry.

His, to be precise.


	4. Chapter 4

They had found Lore a shirt.

Picard, cloaked in his white-noise blanket, watched what was to him a bizarre dumb-show going on just across the corridor. He was careful not to show too much interest: he had a suspicion that the Intractans would not be averse to blocking his view of the android's cell if they thought he was capable of lip-reading or otherwise communicating with Lore.

So the captain sat on his couch by the window, sipped his herb tea and read a few of the latest Intractan news bulletins on a local data padd, occasionally glancing up to keep an eye on proceedings. Lore, it seemed, was remarkably calm given the circumstances. He paced a little, the burns and damage on his pale body standing out sharply in the unforgiving cell light. He watched the comings and goings of the Intractans outside. And what's more, Picard suspected, Lore was keeping an eye on _him, _too.

_Too many suspicions. Not enough facts. Enough time spent in this situation, and I'm going to become as suspicious as the Intracta. _

An Intractan guard arrived after about an hour with a folded piece of deep-dyed royal blue cloth, that when passed through under careful supervision proved to be a button-down shirt. Lore unfolded it and examined it with what seemed exaggerated care, until Picard realised he was checking for bugs.

_Well, there's no point in doing that. Everything that goes on here is monitored or supervised anyway. _

But Lore obviously hadn't remained at liberty for so long without being extremely cautious. At length, he seemed satisfied and shrugged the shirt on over his head, not bothering to undo it first.

It struck Picard that it was the little things like that which really marked Lore out as different to his brother. Data was meticulous, couldn't even unwrap a gift without removing every last piece of tape first. Data would have had every button on that shirt carefully unfastened then refastened - quickly, of course, and not a hair out of place.

Lore's hair had suffered from having a shirt dragged over it, and he looked more dishevelled now he was dressed than he had before with all the scorch marks showing. He returned to pacing, and Picard returned to his tea and the news that Intractan ladieswear was currently the highest-grossing business on the planet, for the second month running. This was apparently attributed to the recent installation of an off-world entertainment system which featured alien women dressed in styles previously unseen on Tractusaria -

He looked up, reacting to a sudden movement glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. in the cell opposite, Lore was on the floor, apparently having stumbled or staggered. He had his back to Picard: one pale hand clasped at his lower spine, his right leg splayed out for balance.

_So_, thought Picard, _perhaps you're more badly hurt than you realised. _

He felt not the slightest pang of sympathy, and only gave the smallest amount of consideration as to whether or not this made him a bad person: he did, however, manage to stop short of thinking that Lore probably deserved it.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me. Excuse me."<p>

Data was relentless in his pursuit of gaining an audience with an Intractan senior official. After his discovery that the Intractans were using such a specific piece of equipment, he had spent some time checking the legal definitions and prisoner requirements that were provided to each visiting ship. He did not, of course, have any of his equipment with him - no tricorder, no communicator and no phaser, these having been confiscated upon arrival - but they hadn't been able to confiscate his memory banks. He had the entire transcript at his disposal, and he'd cross-checked twice to be sure.

There was no rule that prisoners were forbidden to request general information about any aspect of their stay on Tractusaria. He was allowed to request a local data padd which would supply him with precisely and only the information he was allowed to see.

It wasn't much, but it was a place to start, and Data, with his usual voracious capacity for investigation, was determined to make that start.

"Excuse me," he said, politely, as an Intractan guard finally responded to his repeated requests. "I would like to request a local data padd in accordance with prisoner amenities regulation 231.4, section C…"

* * *

><p>Another twenty minutes had passed. Lore hadn't got back on his feet: he sat, head turned, presenting that long profile to Picard and apparently flicking idly at a loose shred of his boot sole. Picard, unable to interest himself in the latest Intractan economic forecasts, found himself wondering if Lore hadn't got back up because he didn't want to or because he couldn't, and then found himself distinctly hoping it was the latter.<p>

The assault on the pregnant woman was preying on his mind.

There are some crimes which can be excusable. One may steal to feed a starving family, one may kill to defend oneself in an attack. But somewhere deep in the psyche of all those species which bear young is that knowledge that children are sacred: they are untouchable. Crimes against children, babies and those in the process of bearing them - these are the inexcusable crimes. In prison, it is always the child abusers and the child murderers who are vilified even by the armed robbers and the parricides.

Picard found himself staring at that inhuman, pallid face. _Is it because Lore is an android, incapable of bearing or siring children - is this why he could do such a thing?_

Lore looked up, sharply: the Intractans were back in force, four engineers and three guards. They lowered the force field, stepping inside the cell, and with simple efficiency one guard shot a targeted beam directly into Lore's forehead.

The android crumpled immediately, not in the neat, board-straight manner Picard had seen when Data had collapsed in the past, but all in a heap like any human under heavy stun.

He felt his own muscles twitch, almost ready to react to Lore's predicament as he would have to an assault on Data, but the care with which the engineers were now lifting Lore, placing him face down on a rapidly constructed folding table, pulling up the shirt to gently examine the areas of damage - it was obvious that the beam had purely been the equivalent of an anaesthetic before surgery.

Picard felt secure enough now to come forward to the force field and watch the procedure. After all, Lore was now in no position to communicate, and it _was_ fascinating, watching strips of synthetic skin peeled back, regenerated, the circuits underneath carefully cleaned and almost microscopic pieces replaced.

The engineers worked in consummate efficient silence, until they reached the worst scorch, the one Picard suspected Lore had been clutching at when he lost his balance earlier. They conferred. One opened the gash wider and pointed out something that seemed to cause consternation.

Eventually, without seeming to reach a decision, the engineers lifted Lore from the table, folded it back up, and filed out along with two of the guards: the third guard remained. Barely five minutes later, an Intractan medic turned up, and Picard watched in bemusement as the deep scorch was taped up with bandages just as if Lore had been a human patient.

It was an odd choice, but perhaps repairing Lore hadn't been as easy as they'd hoped. Picard was pretty sure he'd seen some antistatic strips going into that bandage. Presumably they were just making sure the damage stayed clean until they could try again.

He continued to watch, not really sure why, until Lore began to stir like a groggy cadet after his first night out at the Academy and sat up, frowning. His yellow eyes gave Picard an accusing look, clearly laying the blame for this latest indignity firmly at the captain's door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Interview One**

Picard, flanked by one guard and a member of the Divemaster's personal staff who was acting as official record, entered Lore's cell with no trace of any emotion at all showing on his face. His own impression of Data, to try and keep Lore as neutral as possible while they talked. Any sign of accusation, of antagonism, and he could lose any chance of getting a reliable set of answers out of the android.

_And my time is very limited. I have to make him talk straight with me, starting absolutely right now. _

He sat down at the folding table that had been set up in the bare cell, with Lore already seated at the opposite end. "First interview, responsible prisoner Captain Jean-Luc Picard attending prisoner Lore Soong," whispered the Divemaster's aide. "Interview limited to ten minutes, Federation standard time." His dark eyes flicked to Picard, indicating that he could begin.

_The opener is all-important…_

"Lore," Picard said, calmly, and was glad to see he at least had some attention from his interviewee. "We have very little time and so I am asking you to believe me when I say that I am intending to do everything I can to have these charges against you dropped."

"To save your own skin, of course," said Lore, in a suspiciously cheerful manner. His eyes glinted.

"Of course," Picard agreed. No point in arguing. Lore was never going to believe any claim of altruism on the Federation's part. Best to stick to the truth, wherever possible. "The situation is hardly ideal for me. But any success I may have will rest entirely on how much you are willing to co-operate."

"Captain," purred Lore, head on one side, "if you and your diplomatic strings can get me out of this cell, I'll conscript myself right now. Don't you remember how good I look in Starfleet colours?"

Picard refused to be baited. It was far more co-operation than he could have hoped for, and even that victory was marred with suspicion. Just how bad a situation was Lore in, that he was willing to be so instantly pliable?

"Fine," he said. "Then you can start by telling me exactly what happened that resulted in your ending up in custody."

"It would help if you could tell me what these idiots have charged me with," said Lore, directing a sour look at the attending guard.

That was a surprise. "They haven't told you?"

A look of wounded innocence, so like Data's that Picard almost smiled. "No. They were too busy shooting me in the back. Cowards."

Wondering if that were true, Picard decided to press on. Time was going to run out.

"You're charged with assaulting a pregnant woman. Can you -"

"_Assaulting_ her?"

Lore slammed back his chair and stood, the guard's gun covering his every move. He looked completely and all-consumingly livid, and Picard was reminded just how fast and unpredictable the programmed emotions were. _And how unstable. Take control of this, quickly._

"Please sit down and tell me what happened," he repeated, calmly, not moving a muscle. The guard's readied gun hung in his peripheral vision as a constant warning_. It would be so easy for this whole situation to dissolve into violence. _

"Assaulting her," spat Lore, in utter disgust, grasping the back of the chair. "I was _helping_ her. This is where being a good Samaritan gets you. It's a wonder you Starfleet types aren't all in prison somewhere by now."

It was at this point that Picard wished Lore was easier to read. Unfortunately, the android was an accomplished liar, and his physical mannerisms were not human: it was too difficult to predict what his reactions would be. Still, he seemed genuinely angry at the accusation, and there was certainly nothing to be gained by challenging him.

"Go on," Picard said. Seven minutes left, and he could tell it wasn't going to be enough, not even barely. Lore gave him a hard stare and scraped the chair back to the table, sitting down.

"_She_ came to _me_," he insisted.

* * *

><p>Apparently, it had been night on Ontares 21-Beta, also known as Blackjack, and it had been raining really quite hard. Lore had put the tiny stolen skiff down in the uninhabited wilderness area, utterly unafraid of the carnivorous beasts that kept almost all of the organic inhabitants safely within the walls of their shanty towns. He got out to start the repairs.<p>

It was the middle of the night, local time, and the shining points of the six moons were hanging in the sky through a watery curtain of cloud. The rain was relentless. Within a minute, Lore was soaked to the skin, his stolen clothing soaked black, water running from his slick hair and streaming over his bare feet.

He paid it absolutely no heed unless the water ran into his eyes and obscured his vision.

The skiff wasn't badly damaged, just old and cranky and in need of a lot of patching. Lore worked steadily to make the thing space worthy. He hadn't intended to land on Blackjack, but a sudden power failure in the secondary engine had forced his hand. If he could just get this bucket back in the air, he could make it to the neutral space dock on Tractusaria, where a fully equipped team of engineers would be able to make it purr like a kitten.

Shortly after he realised the engine wouldn't work without a new section of shielding on the power converter, he realised he hated the rain. It was almost refreshing, to hate something so simple and so utterly beyond his control. It was simple to hate it, easy to hate it, and quite satisfying to hate it. He continued to hate it all the way into the shanty town, where he needed to beg, buy or steal some duranium sheeting.

The road was nothing more than a dirt track, and the dirt had turned quickly into a churned mass of mud. Lore slogged through it, still barefoot. There were few other people out in the pouring darkness, and those who had braved it kept their heads down and hoods pulled up against the wet and wind. The android walked straight, eyes slitted against the water, otherwise unaffected by the weather.

Small storm lamps hung on many buildings, swinging in the wind and casting dull yellow highlights onto the muddy ground.

A shaft of light abruptly spilled out in front of Lore as a door was thrown open, a keystoned yellow brilliance. And a woman, being hurled into the night. She hit the mud with a cry and rolled face-down, her clothes immediately clogged with grime.

It was noticeable only when she struggled to move herself onto her back that her stomach was distended in pregnancy, and that she appeared human.

* * *

><p>"Captain Picard, you have one minute. Please give your closing remarks."<p>

The aide sounded all efficiency, not even a hint of apology in having to draw the interview to a close. Picard clenched inwardly, holding Lore's gaze.

"And so you brought her with you, this woman?" he said, quickly.

Lore snorted, hissing air through his teeth in disgust.

"Not my idea," he said, turning his head away to apparently address the wall. "She talked me into it."

Wondering whether this woman was a truly gifted negotiator or in fact mildly insane, Picard stood at a prompt from the guard. _This is assuming Lore's telling the truth…_

"I will be back as soon as is permitted," he said.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Lore returned, almost waspish, and folded his arms.

The force field of Lore's cell safely up behind them, Picard addressed his own guard, Abrin.

"Tell me. Would it be permitted for me to also interview the injured party…?"


	6. Chapter 6

Getting to grips with Intractan red tape was fast becoming Commander Riker's hobby, if not his bane. He was frequently to be seen pacing the bridge, interrogating the various crew members who were working on research topics set by himself; if not that, then he would sequester himself in Picard's ready room, occasionally shuttling out to bark an order before shuttling back in again in what was obviously becoming a foul temper.

After an hour or so of this, he practically sprang out of the ready room, a mixture of gloating glee and fury on his face, and snapped: "Get me Tractusaria. Prisoner liaison."

"Hailing frequencies open and standing by."

"On screen," Riker snarled, flopping down into the command chair and plucking at the arms. The willowy figure of the Intractan aide appeared, looking polite and helpful.

"Supply, under regulation order C34-12a, the full names in their entirety as they appear on the charge sheet against Prisoner Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_."

The Intractan didn't bat an eyelid (figuratively - the species was lacking in what could be safely termed eyelids) and tapped at the info panel at his side.

"Full names as entered are Picard, Jean-Luc, title, Captain, and Soong, Lore, title, Mister."

Riker's anger seemed to deflate all of an instant, his face draining to white. "Spell that, please? The second name…"

"Soong, S-O-O-N-G, first name Lore, L-O-R-E, title Mister, M-I -"

"Thankyou. That's very helpful. _Enterprise _out."

Riker stared at the screen til it cleared, then tilted his head slowly to eye Deanna in the seat at his side. No-one on the bridge said a word.

"Well," he croaked, eventually. "In case you were wondering - whatever I was expecting, that wasn't it."

The counsellor shook her head once, quickly.

"I need to speak to the captain. Failing that, I really need to speak to Data." He raised his voice. "Everybody here is now dedicated to finding me the clause that will let me do that. The first one to find something useful gets to go off-duty early. Until then, no-one stops."

* * *

><p>Whatever Picard had been expecting of the woman Lore had allegedly assaulted, this wasn't it either.<p>

For one thing she was arrestingly beautiful, and for another, apparently sane. Picard would have been prepared to swear that anyone who would willingly throw their lot in with Data's brother had to be lacking a certain important chunk of sense.

She did, however, have a lot of bruises dappling her tawny upper arm and by the way she moved, her ribs as well. She stared up at Picard with haunted eyes, a hand curling over her stomach instinctively.

"Who are you?"

Thoroughly wishing the Intractan guards weren't standing over them both like surrealist statues, Picard laced his fingers behind his back and tried his best not to look like the enemy.

"My name is Jean-Luc Picard," he said. "If you don't mind, its taken a lot of negotiation just to be able to enter the same room as you, and I would very much like to speak with you. It's about Mr Soong."

Even more bafflingly, to his mind at least, he saw all the tiny non-verbal clues that suggested she was relaxing as soon as she mentioned the android's name. Curious for an apparent assault survivor.

That's if she even knows he's an android, was the immediate following thought. We know Data so well we assume it's obvious. Her next words clashed with her body language.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't want to talk about him."

Ever aware of the strict time-clock on this interview, Picard took a seat on the only chair in the hospital room, a safe and non-threatening distance from her.

"I appreciate this has been a difficult experience for you," he said. "But my own liberty rests upon my being able to understand what happened between Mr Soong and yourself. You see, he's - he's my responsibility."

That gathered a startled look. "Well, if you're expecting me to believe he's your son, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that."

"No," said Picard, glad she was even speaking to him, "no, he's not my son."

"Your partner, then?"

The tension was back, Picard noted.

"No," he repeated. "He's the brother of a friend of mine."

Her blue eyes narrowed. "In case you were under some kind of misapprehension," she said, sweetly, "I may be pregnant, but I'm not a fool. I know he's a machine. He showed me. So unless you're telling me you can buy kits like him at the store -"

Picard held up a hand in negation and decided to go with the abridged version of the truth.

"Lore's creator made more than one android," he said, quietly. "That other android serves about my ship. During our visit to this planet, I mistook Lore for his brother and admitted responsibility for his actions as a member of my crew." Her expression fell. "I am now being charged with your assault by proxy."

She was silent for a long moment, as if, like an android herself, thousands of possible answers were constructing themselves behind her eyes. "Oh," was all she said, at length, her fingers lacing and interlacing with themselves, and didn't look at him. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

It wasn't said defiantly, or selfishly, Picard was almost certain: the woman was tired, frightened and above all determined to protect the child she carried. Such circumstances could colour the reactions of a saint.

"You could start by telling me your name," he said, gently.

"Sarah," she said, almost immediately. Almost certainly not the truth, but it was a start.

"Thankyou, Sarah. Now, if you could just answer one question for me, and answer it as thoroughly as you can, that would be exceedingly good of you."

She nodded, her eyes flicking to the Intractan guards hovering behind Picard.

"I'll try."

"Why were you travelling with Mr Soong in his ship?"

Again, that moment of disturbing calculation flashed in her eyes.

"It's not his ship," she said. "It's mine."

* * *

><p>She had rolled helplessly in the mud, feeling like a wallowing beast and more full of rage than she had ever been in her life. How dare they throw her out? And into this filthy night, soaking wet and, gods help her, unable to get up under her own power. The weight of her pregnant body still surprised her, even after so long getting used to it.<p>

She swore loudly in several languages, including her native tongue, and felt the gelatinous mud sinking insidiously through all her clothes to the skin below. Her neck ached abominably, and she was forced, with a shudder of disgust, to allow her head and her hair to hit the ground and be soiled in their turn.

Lying there, her eyes turned upward because there was nowhere else they could comfortably look, she became aware of the man standing only an arm's length away.

He was medium height and as pale as death. The light from the rapidly closing doorway hit his eyes and they flared up yellow as an animal's. Like her, he was soaking wet and had no coat. What she could see of his expression before the darkness swallowed them both was flatly surprised.

"Well, aren't you going to help me up?" she snapped, before she could stop herself. His expression barely flickered.

"No," he said, immediately.

She baulked at his utter disregard for her. Pregnancy can do this even to the most chastened of women. Most males of any species will treat a pregnant female as if she is made of china.

This male looked at her as if she was only mildly more interesting than the mud she lay in. "Why not?" she demanded. "For gods' sake, I'm helpless and I'm pregnant. Give me a hand."

"Why _not_?" he shot back at her. "You're the one who should be giving me a good reason _why_. I'm under no obligation to explain myself to you." He cocked his head in an oddly birdlike manner, and added: "If you'd managed to trip me up, lying down there like that, it'd be a different matter."

He was about two words away from thoroughly infuriating. "And why would it be different?" she snarled, and he crouched down on his haunches easily next to her, apparently to emphasize how smoothly and gracefully he could move, unencumbered by the problems her body faced. He was hateful. They were all hateful.

"Well," he said, rain pouring down his face and dripping from his long nose, "I'd be really quite annoyed with you if that had happened."

She stared up at him, stunned for a moment into not having a thing to say.

As was common with her, though, this didn't last.

"You're an even bigger bastard than the rest of them," she said, and then had to cope with a fresh level of ascending rage as he laughed out loud.


	7. Chapter 7

**Interview Two**

"You have twenty minutes, Captain," said the taller of the guards, and Picard felt like luxuriating in the glory of almost twice the previous time allotted. At the table, Lore looked up at him with a lazy contempt that Picard was almost certain was fake.

Almost, but not quite. Again, the problem with Lore: if you looked at it in a certain way, everything about him was fake. Programs dictated his every blink, thought and expression. Fakery upon fakery. He wasn't convinced by what the woman had told him either. His ten minutes with her had barely been enough to scratch the surface of the story, and he'd left frustrated by his conviction that she was hiding something.

So she'd literally fallen at his feet, and he'd…what? Taken pity on her? Certainly not. Been her good samaritan, as he claimed? Equally unlikely. The captain held Lore's gaze as he pulled out the chair and sat down opposite. The cat-like yellow eyes never wavered. The ultimate poker face, as most of the senior staff had discovered in Data.

There were two guards this time, and they stood closer to Lore than Picard remembered them doing previously. Was he imagining that they were also holding their guns higher? A glance at the Divemaster's aide (who was doing his best to hover inobtrusively with a recording padd) revealed nothing. He wasted precious seconds on the question:

"Has something happened?"

"All sorts of things have happened," said Lore, humourlessly and deliberately non-specific. "I've had a fascinating night." He cracked an eerie, feral smile. "How about you?"

Picard decided not to be baited. It would achieve less than nothing and took up valuable time.

"I've been talking to Sarah," he said.

"Have you?" said Lore, with an annoying lack of reaction. Picard had been hoping at least for a look of incomprehension at the name, which would have proved that the woman was lying to him. "And what did she have to say for herself?"

_What indeed_, thought Picard. It had hardly been useful, and had raised more questions than answers. It had been dark: there had been mud: it had been raining…

_It was raining in the city by the bay__…_

Picard could hear Data's pseudo-gangster drawl even now. He tried to put it out of his mind. Dixon Hill, this was certainly not. Although some of the elements were right for a good noir plot - the damsel in distress who might not be all she claimed, the villain thrown in prison protesting his innocence…

"I'd rather hear from you," he said, and pursued his enquiry even as Lore snorted. "So. She was helpless, friendless and alone. You told me you were helping her. What did you do?"

Lore hesitated for what felt like an unbearably long moment and then put his feet up on the table, giving Picard a frankly disrespectful view of the soles of his boots.

"She couldn't get up by herself. So of course I gave her a hand."

* * *

><p>"…..son of a motherless WHORE!"<p>

The woman's voice reached a crescendo; the rain continued to belt down as if it were personally punishing the surface of Blackjack for some perceived sin; and Lore actually stopped, ten yards away and with his back to her.

She'd actually been quite inventive, for an organic being without access to an extensive memory bank of invective and alien languages. She'd _screamed _at Lore, calling him every name under the suns and accusing him, his family and his friends of activities that were colourful, remarkably unlikely and, in one instance, physically impossible.

It was interesting. Anybody that angry at someone they'd never met before had to be harbouring grudges that even Lore would find extreme. And there was absolutely nothing better to manipulate than a good grudge. They could be very valuable, and at the moment he didn't have anything more going for him on this backwater planet than a dead ship and the clothes he was wearing. So he stopped, knowing he was still in her view even in the sodden, dirty darkness.

Lore put a hand on his hip in a cocky fashion that he knew from experience made humans in particular much more irritated at him, and raised his voice to be heard.

"Is this always how you ask for help? Because if so I have to tell you, that may be the reason you're lying in the mud right now."

"The hell with you!" came the response. "You're not going to help me. You already said so."

"Who are the rest of them?"

The apparent non-sequiter caught her off guard.

"What?"

"You said 'You're an even bigger bastard than the rest of them.'".

The pitch-perfect imitation of her voice silenced her.

"So who are the rest of them?"

He turned now, took a step back toward her. "The people in this town? The people on this planet? Males?"

She looked as if she was going to spit at him, but eventually curled her lip and looked away.

"Are you," she said, flatly, "going to help me up or not?"

Lore grinned in the darkness.

"Say please."

She wiped her face with a hand that was just as grimy, and glared.

"Only if you say thank you. Help me up. Please."

He shrugged, then reached down and hauled her up out of the mire as if she weighed no more than a piece of cotton. Mud sloughed away from her clothes and body in great gobbets. A great deal of it spattered onto Lore's bare feet.

He raised his eyebrows at her and said "Thankyou."

"You're welcome. Let go of me." After he made no move to comply, she went on, her voice sounding strained: "My feet aren't on the ground and it's making me quite uncomfortable. Let go of me."

"In a moment. A question for you." He held her a little further away from him, keeping her hanging. "This planet doesn't seem to like you. How did you get here?"

"I didn't mean to! The guidance system on my ship malfunctioned." She jolted as she was set back on her feet. "I was heading for Tractusaria to get the thing fixed."

"What a wonderful co-incidence," said Lore, helpfully.

* * *

><p>While Picard was listening to Lore's continuing account with an entire sack of salt mentally deployed, Data was reviewing all the most recent news items (recent in Data's mind encompassing the past hundred years) relating to prisoners, passengers and ethical history. His data padd had finally been provided, and he was reading through all of the permitted material at his usual rapid rate<p>

It was interesting to note that there was a growing area of Intractan popular culture dedicated to fictionalising the invasion of the Benaii. Data noted over fifty novels, sixteen holographic scenarios and an extremely popular periodical written by a purported anonymous source who claimed to be a descendent of one of the Benaii invaders.

Data set a subroutine to analyse the content of all these, and then set the majority of his attention back to visitor/prisoner information. About fifty years ago there had been a prisoner killed in custody, and a typically lengthy Intractan investigation had ensued. Data sifted the news reports for details of what had happened, but they were sketchy at best.

"Prisoner Lieutenant Commander Data, it is time for you to visit the recreational lounge. Follow me."

Data obeyed, and even though the previous shift of Intractan guards had warned the new shift about the loquaciousness of this particular alien scum, his new guard still wasn't quite prepared for the sheer volume of apparently inane questions his charge bombarded him with on the way.


	8. Chapter 8

Data's guard would have had a willing sympathiser at that moment. At the table, Picard was having similar issues with the other Soong brother, if for very different reasons. He resisted the urge to bury knuckles into his temples and rub away a headache. Lore's voice was grating on him. The endless arrogance, the unbelievable contempt for his audience. Things weren't helped by the fact that the Intractan aide keeping an eye on them both for the record was evidently a born fidgeter. The fellow had been doing everything - shuffling, exhaling at irregular intervals - if he'd had a wristwatch Picard was sure he would have been checking it compulsively.

" - heading for Tractusaria, so of course I said - hey!"

Lore's voice, along with the thread of his story, cut off in a sharp snap. "Hey, you! The pen pusher! If you can't stand still, sit the hell down before I lose my temper."

He flicked a glance at Picard, obviously missing the relief behind the shocked expression on the man's face. "What? He's shifted his weight sixteen times in the last two point eight minutes. It's getting on my nerves." He grinned. "Metaphorically speaking. I don't have nerves."

"Captain Picard, you have eight minutes remaining." The Intractan aide's voice was as slow and sibilant as usual, but Picard could have sworn an extra minute had just been knocked off his time. Gratitude to Lore for his intervention warred with fury at the android having compromised the good will of their captors.

_Now that__'__s interesting. When did I start thinking of myself as a proper prisoner, not just a man taking part in a unique cultural experience?_

"Lore, you'd just found out she had a ship. Why didn't you simply take the parts you needed for your own ship and leave her behind?"

"Well, that's just not very chivalrous," said Lore, utterly deadpan once again save for the gleaming yellow eyes.

"It's nothing special," said Lore, trying not to let his enthusiasm ruin what was a perfectly good lie. Had he been biological, he probably would have been drooling.

This wasn't a ship. This was…this was a technical dream. No, not a dream, a flight of fancy. The woman snorted from a few steps behind him. She was making heavy weather of the mud, and Lore had not slowed his own pace to wait for her. Well. Not much. He had needed the ship too much to lose her completely.

And now it was right in front of him, despite the bubbled scars of phaser fire across its flanks, and it was beautiful, and he was only sad it had spent so long belonging to someone else.

"Oh, it's special all right," the woman had said. "Anything that old and crabby is special in its own way." She gave him a suddenly searching look. "Hey. How old are you, anyway?"

"Thirty-six," he lied.

"Funny. I would have guessed older."

Lore was unmoved. His vanity didn't stretch to the physical self when his technical self was busy engaging with the intricacies of the ship. Was that a Vulcan recycling duct tempered with some Angrebar holding pistons -

"And you're definitely not Ingellian or human. So what are you?"

It was quite impossible the amount of talking she did. He ignored her, running a hand over the burns in the hull and the smoother edges of an entrance hatch in the thing's belly. A sharp fizz of feedback stung at the sensors on his fingers. He frowned.

"She bite you?"

The woman was smirking at him. "She doesn't like strangers. Weird, though. Most people at least scream a bit or jump when they come up against her security field."

"I don't scream. Or jump." He gave her a look. "Ever."

"Again, what are you? Some kind of robot?"

"Yes," he said, carelessly, suddenly bored with lying. "Open the hatch, I want to have a look at her."

"Now you're starting to sound like my last boyfriend."

He was turning, actually drawing back his fist preparatory to slinging her on her back with a well-aimed punch, when the hatch hissed above him as the seals released. Dim lights were flickering on in the dark interior as the ramp lowered, jerkily, as if it was being manually unwound by an elderly human with arthritis.

The woman stared at him, as if weighing up the tiny physical clues of violence in his posture, then shoved past him. "_And_ you lie like him," she added. "Robot. Stupid."

Lore didn't waste time responding to that. He hung close to her as she struggled up the ramp, not willing to let the chance of a better ship slip through his hands.

And this ship was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

"Describe the ship," said Picard, interested despite himself. Data's encyclopaedic knowledge of ships was well-known to him, and Lore probably had similar resources to draw on. If this woman had something that Lore didn't recognise…that was a good place to start. Was it as simple as theft?

But Lore was looking at him with utter disdain, and Picard reluctantly remembered he was trying to keep on the android's good side. "Please," he added. But the damage was done. Lore's horribly mercurial temper had turned.

"I'm not your trained monkey, Captain," said Lore sharply, "and if I remember correctly, your sorry hide is on the line just as much as mine is. Probably more, because even if you escape prison here your Federation masters will break you over their knees for causing a diplomatic incident."

"Try not to sound so pleased," said Picard, resting his chin on his hand - and as he'd barely hoped, Lore laughed.

"Picard, I will sound all that and more if we end up in the same Intractan jail cell."

"Aren't we already?" said Picard, feeling suddenly tired, and swallowed his annoyance when faced with the mental image of being stuck there. "Now _please_, Lore. There must have been something special about the ship that you were willing to put up with the vagaries of a pregnant woman in order to own it."

"Captain Picard, you have one minute remaining," said the aide, from behind him, and Picard was certain this time he could hear smugness in that alien voice. "Please give your closing remarks."

Picard fixed Lore with an intent stare, even as the android sighed, and said: "Before the next time. Think about the answer to this question - assuming that she has nothing against you personally, why would this woman want to have you thrown into prison?"

And Picard was escorted out with Lore's angry growl of "I don't know!" ringing in his ears, which was very little comfort.

_I'm running out of time, and Lore's running out of motive._

_Maybe I have been going about it the wrong way. I've been advancing all along assuming that Lore is guilty. If I assume he is innocent - _

Like Commander Riker before him, Picard really wished he could just have five minutes to talk to Data.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Honestly? One minute?"

One minute. It was barely even enough to get a single question answered with any clarity.

"One minute, sir, that's what it says."

La Forge looked apologetic. There wasn't any reason for him to: after all, he'd been the one to find the clause. It wasn't his fault the clause had had a litter of baby clauses and sub-clauses and that they all wanted a piece of the action. Riker gave Geordi a sympathetic grimace and returned to his deliberations.

One minute. It was nothing, absolutely nothing. Riker tried to think of any time when he'd tried to get a point across at school debate club and had managed to keep his time limit. He wasn't coming up with anything encouraging. Admittedly, it was Data he was going to be talking to. As long as he could forestall the usual verbal enthusiasm Data indulged in, he could probably get a lot of useful information in one minute.

And like it or not, it was all they had so far.

"Okay." Riker took a breath. "Okay. Get me my one minute. Right now."

"Getting it, but you're not going to like the conditions."

"The hell with the conditions," said Riker. "And the rest of you, get back to the books. See if you can't find me something that stretches to one minute ten. After all," he added, with a grim shadow of his usual twinkle at Deanna, "our luck's changing."

* * *

><p>"I've been thinking about it," said Lore, with a smile.<p>

Picard, who had not yet gained his seat, frowned at him. The android's tone was almost submissive. And something really was most dreadfully wrong: the sense of it hung in the atmosphere like smoke around Picard as he hesitated, hands on the back of his chair.

There were _three _guards in the room this time. All of them were heavily armed. And all of them were watching Lore as if he were a ticking time bomb.

Although the android was undoubtedly a prize disaster waiting to happen, this was just one more item on Picard's checklist of things that were not right. Many successful leaders have similar mental checklists: two or three items too many and the instincts push for one to withdraw from a situation. The leader, at that point, absorbs those items and, if he's a starship captain at least, continues to investigate. Picard, his mental fedora firmly pulled down over his preservation instincts, acted true to type.

"Why are there more guards watching you?"

"You think they'd tell me? Honestly, Captain. They didn't even bother to tell me what I was charged with."

Picard, aware he was wasting time, switched interrogation targets effortlessly. "Why is this prisoner being additionally guarded?"

"Captain Picard," whispered the aide, "your allotted time is with the prisoner, not his guards. They are not required to answer you."

Picard's list grew another couple of additional items.

"Would you be so kind," he said, levelly, "to tell me who would be required to answer such a question?"

The aide stared at him with dark, shark like eyes. "No-one is required to answer that question," he said. "Prisoners do not need to know why they are guarded, only that they are. It is all in the docking terms and conditions."

"But surely -"

"Captain Picard. You have only eight minutes remaining. Are you _sure_ this is how you wish to spend them?"

The alien face was inscrutable, a mask. The guards hadn't moved even the slightest inch. Behind Picard's shoulder, at the table, Lore snorted.

"And you think _I__'__m _the one who's a criminal here?"

Picard rounded on him, unable to keep the creeping sense of doubt out of his head and taking refuge briefly in irritation against a familiar antagonist.

"I _know_ you're a criminal. What I don't know is why, given the sheer breadth of genuine opportunities your life history affords, anyone would bother to try accusing you of a crime you didn't commit."

"I said I'd been thinking about it," said Lore, truculently. "You didn't give me a chance to offer my opinion. Are you sure you don't want to keep on trying to question the guards?"

Challenged identically on two fronts, Picard took his seat opposite and stared Lore down - or at least did his best. The android's gaze was implacable.

_Oddly, though, I__'__m starting to even find Lore more encouraging company than my __"__hosts__"__. And if I ever tell him that, I've lost. _

"Please. Tell me what you've been thinking about," was all he said, aloud. Lore leant back in his chair, evidently pleased with himself.

"You'll be surprised, I know," he said, "when I tell you that to reach my conclusion I had to set aside the assumption that this was actually ever anything to do with _me_…"

"Astounded," murmured Picard, trying not to roll his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Hey, don't touch that!"<p>

Lore looked lazily up from the control panel he'd been tinkering with. The woman was hustling over, her massive belly slowing her down considerably.

"Why not? It's obviously broken."

"I know it's broken. But it's just the equivalent of this ship's "check engine" light. It doesn't mean anything. Just leave it alone."

"Don't you want to check the engine?"

"No, I don't want to check the engine. And I don't want you to check it either. Just sit down and keep your hands to yourself." She had glared at him. "In all meanings of the word. You're still a bastard. I can tell one when I see one."

The ship was old. Really old. Or at least parts of it were: it was a hulking patchwork monster, inside and out. There were brand new parts carefully slotted into place, like bricks, set and shaped and definitely supposed to be there - and then there were other pieces of equipment balanced precariously on edges and shoved into corners, trailing wires that were connecting them tenuously with the innards of the central core. And there were some bits - the bits that interested Lore the most - that looked almost organic.

A ship like this could only ever be one of two things - either indestructible or about to self-destruct. And it wasn't showing any of the usual warning signs of a machine about to explode.

Had he been human, Lore's fingers would have been itching. This thing was a treasure trove. And it was going to Tractusaria.

Proof positive, more than ever, that the universe loved Lore. More than made up for his lack of caring family. The universe itself liked to throw down gems like this one in his path.

Shame about the baggage, but it wasn't anything Lore couldn't handle. If she proved to be a problem, he'd just kill her.

"You want me to get this thing moving?" was all he said. For now. For all he knew she had the thing rigged to blow or responding to bio data commands only.


End file.
